


The Thing

by viceroyvonmutini



Series: hic ibi dracones [5]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-06-07 19:09:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6820537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viceroyvonmutini/pseuds/viceroyvonmutini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hogwarts was adamant they were not a Thing. So was Root. Shaw was getting paranoid about it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Thing

**Author's Note:**

> Well, well, well. Look what the cat finally dragged back through seventeen layers of dirt and a hedge to finally dump on your doorstep. As I rise, so does POI season 5. 
> 
> I've been away for a while. I can't promise this is my great return. What i can promise is yes, this is an update and yes, I do have planned more instalments in this series. 
> 
> As always, it isn't essential you read the others, but there is a progression of character development going on here and there are extra references for those who have read the others.

Sameen Shaw was not in a relationship. In fact, the thought had hardly crossed her mind. Partly because Root had this uncanny ability to know exactly when enough was enough, and partly because (Root suspected) Sameen Shaw possessed superhuman powers of denial.

Denial was entirely the wrong word, because Sameen Shaw knew exactly what was going on, and if Root ever happened to bring up the word “denial” it would’ve been a grave misstep, because Shaw was highly capable of accepting a situation thank you very much, and she was not in a relationship with Root.

Root, for her part, would have agreed. She was very happy with the “not-talking-about-it” way Shaw had about this. She was very happy overall, in fact: something duly noted by all, and reached a surprising peak when Harold Finch happened to pass Root, sat on the grass, humming. It wasn’t so much the humming that stopped him in his tracks, but the fact that for once it didn’t sound like a menacing, creepy, scarily sincere childlike hum that usually preceded some of her more brutal retaliations Finch had witnessed in his time here.

So really, Shaw wasn’t in denial. She wasn’t in a relationship, and no one else seemed to mention the Relationship Word so she really had no reason to question it, because it wasn’t even an issue, this Relationship Thing.

Hogwarts was conspicuously silent on the issue – if it was an issue – which unnerved Shaw more than anything. She was well aware of the insatiable appetite for gossip and the very much superhuman ability of the entire student body to know every detail of an alleged event not 5 minutes after it occurred. Shaw knew for a fact that she was an often talked about piece of news, and prided herself on the dangerous mystery that surrounded her as she refused to comment or even acknowledge the vastly exaggerated tales of her violent and terrifying exploits. People kept away, and she liked that. She was perfectly happy in her narrow social bubble. But she wasn’t an idiot. She knew full well she was spending more time with Root – something she couldn’t really stop because Root had this really supernatural ability to just “Be There” and at first Shaw thought it would really piss her off but she’s found that Root is actually fully capable of sitting in silence as Shaw makes a point of ignoring her and, to Shaw’s knowledge, seems kind of happy with that arrangement – and she also knew that their sexual escapades were far from subtle, because Root wouldn’t know subtle if it hit her over the head with a brick. And so it was deeply suspicious that Shaw heard not even a whisper of a rumour surrounding herself, and Root, and the Relationship Thing.

(Shaw had asked Fusco about it one evening in the Hufflepuff common room, but he had shrugged and mumbled a ‘I dunno’ and, ‘maybe they’re scared of you’ and, ‘ask Zoe’, which she did, and who replied: ‘Why, do you want me to start something?’

‘No.’

‘So what’s the problem?’

At which point Shaw had glared and walked off, and realized that complaining about the _lack_ of rumours circulating was stupid and ridiculous and now she was just angry.)

The effect of this blanket silence was to place Shaw on edge. She knew Root had nothing to do with it – she just knew, somehow – so it either meant Reese had stepped up and threatened the entire school, which would have been impressive, or Hogwarts had finally utilized it’s “hive mind” (Root’s term, not hers) for the greater good.

But it wasn’t so much how, or why, that got Shaw, but _that_ it was happening. She started to stew. She really wasn’t one for introspective thought, but suddenly she started wondering if she wasn’t getting paranoid. Finch used to say only the paranoid survived, but Shaw didn’t like second-guessing herself. At all. She always knew where she stood; only now it was like free-fall with only Root for company. Because no one was talking about this, and Root never mentioned the Relationship Thing (though she wasn’t above “date”, and “marriage” and “Sameen you’re surprisingly romantic”, and the last thing Shaw was trying to be was fucking _romantic)_ and Reese just smiled knowingly at the two of them which was more than infuriating, before turning his attention back to Zoe who had somehow entered their little group and, Shaw suspected, was getting very close to John indeed.

If no one was talking about the whole Relationship Thing, then it meant it couldn’t possibly be a thing. So then why was she plagued by thoughts that this thing with Root was what everyone else called a relationship, but not her? Only this time it was everyone else _not_ calling it a relationship, skirting around the subject. Her reference points were entirely gone. She didn’t _want_ to be in a relationship, and she didn’t _want_ to be the next item in the Hogwarts Gossip Column, but she did want to stop feeling like everyone else knew something she didn’t.

Like the puppy eyes. Root’s she could deal with. Root knew where she stood; she knew that Shaw was never going to acknowledge them because it made her uncomfortable. She knew that Shaw had her ways, like how sometimes she would leave the door to her single dorm unlocked at night so Root didn’t have to break in through a 10th floor window the size of a decent block of cheese just to have sex. Or how Shaw would take her to places like the Shrieking Shack, and it wasn’t weird or overtly romantic or anything, it was just Shaw doing something she liked to do and letting Root tag along in silence. Root got it. Well, they never spoke about it, but Root had this uncanny ability when it came to Shaw where she suddenly grew the ability to respect boundaries. Shaw appreciated that, in her way.

But everyone else in the student body was not Root. There was a reason Shaw kept her distance. But she could feel it on her back: their joyful, expectant, knowing eyes as they watched her. She was use to fear, sometimes awe, but _knowing_ eyes? Did they think she was an idiot? Did they think they knew something she didn’t about herself? She knew exactly about herself thank you very much, and she knew why those looks were shot her way. And it shouldn’t bother her, but it did, because she had no way to validate her thoughts about the whole Root Thing because no one – not even Root – was talking about it.

One conversation. That’s all she needed. Wanted. She just wanted confirmation. A way to let off steam. She was a doer. John was the broody one. Let him do the brooding. She wanted this over with.

And so Sameen Shaw took the initiative, and dragged Root to Hogsmeade one snowy Sunday, for a drink.

(‘I’m going to Hogsmeade.’

‘Do I have time to grab my coat?’)

Shaw hated the Hogsmeade inn. It was crowded – especially in winter – and grimy, and almost impossible to relax when the entirety of the 6th and 7th years were pushing back and forth to get drinks, with the odd underage kid getting hexed out of the place. Shaw had worked the system, back in her day. A glare and a ‘Butterbeer tastes like kestrel shit. It’s cold and I’m hungry and I want a hot drink, so let me in or I toss your creepy voodoo head into the Whomping Willow’ generally worked wonders.

So here she was, sat at a tiny table in the back of the place, near enough to the toilets to get that weird public bathroom smell even in this old wooden place every time the door swung open, waiting for Root to bring her Irish coffee and Root’s own hot chocolate. Shaw herself had a thing for hot chocolate. It was something she neither hid nor denied: she just liked it. Root had been surprised when she had stumbled upon that fact, but Shaw didn’t generally worry about the whole Image Thing when it came to food and personal enjoyment.

(‘I didn’t know you liked hot chocolate.’

Shaw eyed her over her mug, topped with extra whipped cream and cinnamon flakes.

‘It’s not a very threatening drink.’

‘It’s a drink, Root.’

Root conceded the point, and if possible her eyes grew ever closer to those of a Golden Retriever puppy as she looked on at Shaw, gulping down her hot chocolate.)

This time, however, she needed something a little extra. Her week had been the week from hell, and now she was topping it all off with this. Whatever “this” was. Before she could question her sanity any further, Root reappeared with their drinks, sitting down opposite Shaw and sliding over her Irish coffee. Shaw took a gulp, ignoring the burn in her mouth from the hot liquid.

‘Nice?’

Shaw shrugged. Root sensed this was not the time to launch into small talk about the weather, or how busy the place was, and so kept silent, happy to soak in the warm atmosphere and wait for whatever it was Shaw had to say. Or didn’t have to say.

‘What are we doing?’

Root looked up from her mug, watching closely. She wasn’t worried; more like concerned. That was a big question.

She tilted her head. ‘Can you be more specific, sweetie?’

Root had this way that always took Shaw a second to decipher. Her tone was always just on the verge of patronizing, like you wanted to get mad at her for not taking you seriously, but you also knew that she was taking you seriously even if it didn’t seem like she was taking you seriously. It was ridiculously infuriating. It also happened to work wonders with children: Shaw had seen Root single-handedly pacify a group of First years as their game of mini-Quidditch descended into outright war as the Gryffindors had attacked the Hufflepuffs with no warning by hurling a quaffle at the keepers head, and the Slytherins had gotten mad about that so they attacked the Gryffindors with spells, and the Ravenclaws had just joined in because everyone else was fighting. Shaw had been impressed as Root strode into the fray and talked them all down. She had also stayed a safe distance away as Root worked her charm, because Shaw had this general “scary” aura that made any sort of pacifying and comfort awkward for everyone involved.

‘Why?’

‘Specific, Sameen.’

Shaw clenched her jaw. ‘Why do you do this? What’s in it for you?’

Root shifted, setting down her drink.

‘Do you want me to-‘

‘No. That’s not what I’m saying.’ Shaw could hear the frustration creeping into her voice. ‘Why? What is it?’

Root studied Shaw.

‘What do you want me to say?’ she said.

‘Whatever you want.’

Root sighed. She’d been invested in the whole let’s-not-talk-about-this strategy for personal reasons, as well as Shaw’s comfort.

‘You’re not an idiot, Sameen. You know why.’ Her voice was light: that musical, playful thing she had that both amused and irritated Shaw.

Shaw didn’t reply. Root shrugged carelessly, reaching for her drink as she desperately tried to calculate how to answer without putting Shaw on the spot.

‘You can ask me to stop, Sameen-‘

‘Like you’d listen,’ muttered Shaw under her breath, but Root heard, and smiled.

‘Only when you’re serious.’

‘Tell me what this is.’

Shaw had this way, this complete directness that sometimes took Root off-guard with the way she would just launch into a topic with no warning, and expect you to keep up. Like now.

‘For you, or for me?’

Shaw looked up sharply.

‘That’s the same thing.’

At this point, Root latched on to what was going on here. Admittedly it had taken a while but she got it. What Shaw was gunning for here.

‘Is it?’

Shaw backed down, looking over at a table of Ravenclaws to her right.

‘Sameen, it’s whatever you want. I don’t. Mind.’

‘It’s something.’

‘Yes. If it’s a friendship, then fine. Relationship: that’s fine.’ Shaw took a drink. ‘But it doesn’t really matter, does it?’

‘Does it matter to you?’ asked Shaw.

‘No.’

Shaw watched the Ravenclaw’s as they talked loudly over one another and of course, Root was right. Even if they did address this Root Thing, Shaw wouldn’t like the label and addressing of the Root Thing, which Root knew even now, and Shaw didn’t necessarily want it addressed between them, but wanted peace on the matter of what this tryst was, because she didn’t know what it was and no one else was telling her what it was. But looking over at the table of Ravenclaws, she realized she didn’t really give a flying fuck what it was to everyone else, because to her it was a really nice sense of equilibrium that Root knew just how to manage. And Shaw like that.

Shaw drew her eyes away from the neighbouring table and looked straight at Root, catching herself before she could really marvel at Root’s perceptive nature; even now her eyes weren’t worried, but patient, waiting for Shaw to get it. Oddly, not patronizing.

‘Good.’

Root quirked her lips, taking a knowing gulp of her chocolate.

‘It’s so busy in here Sameen. If this is a date-‘

‘Shut up Root.’

 


End file.
